Everybody Talks
by Padfoot3456
Summary: It started with a whisper. John/Sherlock


It started with a whisper. With John pressing Sherlock up against the wall of the crime scene, which was, for the moment, deserted of police officers. Sherlock had said something clever to send them out. Like usual. And even though John was the one boxing Sherlock in, it felt like he was the one trapped in place.

"People will talk." John whispered.

Their foreheads were very close together. Sherlock had to bend a little, but he didn't seem to care. John could feel that their hair was brushing together, and he was looking into those maddeningly pale green-blue eyes. He could feel the intensity of Sherlock's stare, and it was making the hairs on his arms stand up.

"People do little else." Sherlock replied, voice low, but with perfect enunciation.

That was when Sherlock kissed him. His hands came up, curling around John's neck, preventing him from pulling away. Not that John really wanted to. His arms wrapped, albeit more tentatively, around Sherlock's waist. Clutching each other so tightly, it was hard to balance, so they wobbled in place just the slightest bit. Not that either of them noticed. They were kissing too hard. It almost hurt John's lips, but he didn't care.

John could hear the talking outside the door- Lestrade and probably some others. He was sure Sherlock heard it too, but they weren't pulling away from each other. Not until the handle of the door turned and said door began to open did they jump apart, smoothing their clothes and in John's case, ruffling his hair.

Lestrade walked in with a few other officers. Mercifully no Anderson.

"What have you got?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock held up one finger, licking his lips and then pulled out his phone, starting to tap rapidly on the screen.

Not two seconds later, John got a text. He opened it, excusing himself and turning away from the crime scene to look at it.

_Meet me at home._

_ -SH_

John's face heated up. Mostly because he couldn't decide if that was a 'we are about to have wild amazing sex' text or if Sherlock was just being the normal romantically impaired human being that he was. John was really hoping for the former, but he was willing to bet on the latter. No matter. He turned and nodded to Sherlock, who's lips twitched upwards in a brief smile as he glanced up before he went back to his phone. John said goodbye in the same way to Lestrade, and then he was gone.

oooOOOooo

Sherlock could remember the way John had looked at him when these Feelings started to appear. Feelings with a capital F because just 'feelings' could be anything. Feelings makes them Important. Okay, so Sherlock capitalizes a lot of things. Except for mycroft. mycroft stays un-capitalized.

So these Feelings. Yes.

John used to look at him in a rather confused way when Sherlock had first shown him the Patches. Nicotine Patches. They were a nod to Mrs. Hudson, for one chief reason. Sherlock didn't want her to have to be breathing in second hand smoke whenever she came into the flat. They also helped with quitting. Not that Sherlock ever truly planned on quitting, but it made the option feel available.

John was quickly becoming Sherlock's new addiction. On days when John was around more often, Sherlock found that he used less patches. It put an extra imperceptible bounce to his step, so to speak, when he realized this. John never noticed, because Sherlock didn't want him to.

And Sherlock was very good at not letting people notice Important things he doesn't want them noticing.

It kind of felt like lying to John, though. And that didn't make him feel very good.

And then Sherlock started getting Feelings, too. Feelings that mirrored John's Feelings.

It made him want to grab John, and if there were some way, to liquefy him and make him into Sherlock's new addiction in some sort of physical form. As opposed to the current circumstances, where Sherlock got high on John's smiles, on John's laugh, on the looks that John gave him sometimes that made Sherlock want to shag him into the carpet.

Sherlock didn't acknowledge how much of a sucker he was for John's puppy look. He didn't think John ever even knew he was doing it, either. But whenever John gets wind that Sherlock was even considering doing something dangerous without letting him tag along, he gets that look on his face. The one that said 'why won't you bring me? You can't _not_ bring me. Someone's gotta protect you. I wanna do it. Please?'

At least, that was what it said to Sherlock.

He had no idea what John was actually thinking.

oooOOOooo

"You haven't been taking your medicine." His therapist remarked.

John shrugged. He'd weaned himself off of it. He didn't need it anymore. It was like Sherlock said. It was all in his head, and he could get through PTSD without the drugs.

"Would you like to tell me why?" She prodded.

"I don't feel like I need it." John said simply. "I feel fine. Better than ever, really."

"Is it because of what we talked about last time?"

John took a deep breath, spreading his hands and then clasping them again before leaning back in his seat. How could he put this into words and make it not sound stupid?

"Sort of." He settled with. He glanced up and could tell she was looking for more. "Sherlock makes me feel like I don't need them. He keeps my mind occupied, and I'm busy for the first time in a long time." John shrugged. "He's better than the drugs."

"It's good that he's keeping you occupied, but do you believe it's healthy to be so involved with this man?" She asked. She wasn't trying to insult Sherlock, it was just like every other question. But John still took it like a barb.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do." He said defiantly, firmly.

"Okay, okay." She backed off. Good. It made John relax a little bit.

There was silence for a long time. She was making notes on her clipboard- angled so he couldn't read it upside down anymore. John crossed his arms and looked around the room that had become familiar to him. He wished bitterly that there were at least a few nooks and crannies that he did not recognize, or a new book on the shelf or something, some small detail that he did not already have memorized.

There wasn't one.

"Do you love him?"

The question came out of nowhere, and kind of hit John in the solar plexus. Did he love Sherlock?

"Yeah… Yeah I do." He whispered.

oooOOOooo

So that was what led them here, lying on John's bed because that was where Sherlock found him when he came home, Sherlock on top and kissing him silly. John didn't even care, because okay, wow, Sherlock was hard and grinding felt really good. Fuck that they were grown men. Fuck that. Because this was really nice and when the hell did Sherlock's hands get under his shirt, exactly?

John couldn't care. It felt too good. Sherlock's hands were a little cold and explored John's body thoroughly, teasing his nipples when he came to them and dancing down his ribs and making John laugh a little bit. He missed the way Sherlock's eyes softened at the laugh, but he definitely didn't miss the kiss that followed.

So they had sex. And it was really fantastic. John had never felt more alive in his life. Not even in Afghanistan, where he'd started breathing the dusty air and thanking God that he could still do that, when so many men- so many of his _friends_ had ceased to breathe at all.

Turned out Sherlock had done this before while John hadn't, so by default it was Sherlock on top. John couldn't help but be jealous of whoever it was that had gotten Sherlock before him, but it was probably for the best that Sherlock knew what he was doing, because John got more than uncomfortable a few times but Sherlock was there to whisper to him, make him relax with gentle words and pumping his fingers more slowly in and out of John.

When John was ready, Sherlock pushed inside. John had never felt anything like this before, this pain-pleasure slow burn of being filled more than he thought he could handle. Sherlock was close over top of him, each of them sharing the other's heat and breath. John liked to run his thumbs over those beautiful, beautiful cheekbones. He found that clenching around Sherlock made the man's eyes glaze over and a breath of his name ghost between those lips that he loved to kiss.

Sherlock soon turned the tables, though, and had John a whimpering, moaning mess. Needless to say, it didn't last as long as John had wished it would. But that was fine, because it was way better than he'd ever imagined, and they were both tired afterwards anyway.

"I love you." John whispered into Sherlock's neck as they lay there, panting and never wanting to move again.

"I love you, too." Sherlock said matter-of-factly.

John wasn't sure what he was expecting, but he knew he wasn't expecting Sherlock to come out and say it back. Maybe he thought Sherlock wouldn't say it at all, or just nod, or say something like 'of course you do' in that Sherlock way that isn't mocking, it's just a statement of fact.

But the fact that he said it made John smile and hug Sherlock tightly until they both fell asleep.

oooOOOooo

And of course they got caught one day. Because it's not exactly a secret that could be kept completely under wraps for forever. Not with the way they worked with the police. Lestrade walked in on a rather hot-and-heavy make-out session that Sherlock had instigated in the morgue while Molly was out. The man's ears had turned red and he'd walked right out again.

He must have been really surprised by it. Surprised enough that he shot his mouth off to the first person he saw. Which apparently happened to be Anderson. _Fucking Anderson_. John had never known why Sherlock and he hated each other so much, but when Anderson started spreading it around, enough that it got to the press, about their relationship… Well, John was inclined to attempt to trip him whenever they passed each other in the halls of the police station.

But it never seemed to bother Sherlock. Except for the usual '_Must_ the tabloids print _everything_?', there was no reaction. John was uncomfortable with the stares he got now when he went outside, and the awkward comments he overheard when he used the tubes.

Mostly, he was able to ignore it. Thankfully. It was when people began to insult Sherlock that John wanted to punch someone. Sherlock was usually with him when that happened and held him back with a look or a word, holding his wrist when necessary.

Lestrade didn't see them any differently, anyway.

"I thought you two were screwing each other since you showed up." Lestrade said when they brought it up, gesturing to John. "I just didn't think I'd ever actually _see_ it." He shook his head, looking a little pale in the face. "And, hey, I'm sorry about talking to Anderson about it. I shouldn't have- it was stupid."

"Yes, it was." Sherlock agreed before John could say anything.

John just sighed and let it go. All seemed to be forgiven as far as Lestrade went, anyway.

On the other hand, Sherlock's rivalry with Anderson just got worse and worse. It made what John had first seen seem like a child's spat. This was positively _vicious_. Sherlock always played violin for a long time after coming home when he and Anderson had had a bad fight.

From an objective point, it was almost like Sherlock wanted to be friends with Anderson, but was too frustrated by Anderson's lack of intellect and his constant insults to actually try and be nice to him. John was okay with that. Because it was to him that Sherlock turned when his violin proved completely fruitless.

John tried to tell Sherlock he loved him as often as possible. It didn't seem like Sherlock had ever gotten to hear the words directed at him very often in a romantic sense. And John could see the little smile Sherlock got whenever he said it, even though Sherlock tried to hide it more often than not.

Being in love with Sherlock was easy. There wasn't much that changed. It was just that now they had sex and kissed and held hands. And sometimes if John could get Sherlock to sit down long enough, they'd cuddle on the couch. It wasn't so much cuddling as it was leaning against each other or laying in each other's laps.

Mrs. Hudson was very considerate about it, too, just smiling at them whenever she caught them doing what she called 'couple things'. Sherlock never seemed bothered about that, either, so John learned to relax, too.

And it started with a whisper.

* * *

This was requested to me by a good friend of mine. :3She wanted me to write a Johnlock fic on the song from Neon Trees by the same name as this. XD Hopefully I did it well. (: Anywho, enjoy!


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